But as Dick stood beside Ned in their last hour at Belleville, and the sadness of parting was in the face and eyes from which fun usually bubbled, Ned said: 

“My father owns a tract of land in the Big Cypress Swamp of Florida.  There is a lot of fine timber on it and he intends to set up a lumber mill in the swamp and perhaps build a railroad from Fort Myers to some part of it.  A surveyor with a guide is going into the swamp this fall to locate the best timber and I’m going with them.  You know how we have planned to do real camping and exploring together.  Well, here’s our chance.  I’ve written to Dad and he invites you to go with me.  We can start any time.  When can you be ready, Dick?”

“Ned, I’d give all I have in the world to go with you, but I can’t—­I can’t.  Mother has spent more than she could afford to keep me at this school and sometimes I’m ashamed when I think how I’ve wasted my time.  Now I don’t mean to be an expense to her or anyone else hereafter.  I won’t take a penny that I don’t earn, from anybody, and I won’t go on any trip, even with you, until I can pay my own way, every cent of it.”

“But, Dick, your companionship and the work you can do will be worth all it costs, twice over, to me and to Dad and he will feel just that way about it.”

“It’s like you, Ned, to say all that, but it’s no use and you know it.  You’ve been mighty good to me ever since I came to this school and I’m going to keep your good opinion by not accepting your offer to go with you now.  Some time, when I can keep up my end, I’ll be with you bigger than an Injun.  If you ever find strange footprints down in those Everglades, better foller ’em up.  They’ll likely be mine.  Good-bye, Ned.”

The boys clasped hands and as Dick walked away tears rolled down his freckled cheeks.

Four months after the parting of the two friends, at Belleville, Dick received a letter postmarked “Immokalee, Florida,” which was headed: 

/#
   Big Cypress Swamp, 20 miles from anywhere,

   October 10th.

   Dear chum: 

Here I am! on a prairie inside the Big Cypress Swamp, about which we used to talk and where we planned to camp some day.  Well, it’s bigger than anything we ever dreamed of and every foot of it is alive.  Sometimes I sleep in a tent, but more often under the stars.  Last night I heard the scream of a panther, so near that it made me shiver, and the next minute a frog dropped from the branch of a tree over my head and fell on my face.  I must have screamed louder than the panther, for I scared Chris Meyer, the surveyor, who is camping with me, pretty badly.  The guide we expected didn’t come, so we are guiding for ourselves.  I hope Chris knows where we are, for I am sure I don’t.  We measure the big cypress trees with a tape line and Chris calculates the number of feet of lumber in each tree.  Then we estimate the trees in an acre and guess at the number of acres.  At least